Life in Alphabet
by AdrianaSnapeHouse
Summary: Some glimpses of the lives of Harvey Specter and Michael Ross, after a tragic accident tests each other's loyalty, recounted from the alphabet. A scene, a letter, an instant; life is an unordered alphabet. Sometimes it's not about what the mentor teaches the protégé, but what the protégé does for his mentor. [AU since season three] [Bromance, not slash] Hurt!Harvey, Protective!Mike
1. D of Drinking

**Life in alphabet**

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**Harvey Specter & Mike Ross (AU)**

**Summary: **Some glimpses of the lives of Harvey Specter and his protégé, Michael Ross, after a tragic accident tests each other's loyalty, recounted from the alphabet. A scene, a letter, an instant; life is an unordered alphabet. Sometimes it's not about what the mentor teaches the protégé, but what the protégé does for his mentor. [AU since season three] [Bromance, not slash] Hurt!Harvey and Protective!Mike for a change.

**Author's note:** Actually, the characters are a pretext for writing and the kind of relationship between Harvey Specter and Mike Ross portrayed in the series is perfect for telling this story that, as you will see, is a divergence from the plot that we were presented in the series over nine seasons, although I will try to be as faithful as possible to its essence. I'm interested in recovering the human aspect of the series. In this vignette, Harvey is 48 years old and Mike 32 (although they never explicitly say his age on the series, I wanted to portray him a little older to emphasize the paternal aspect of their relationship). Thanks to Vergil for his support as editor of this story; I promise one day to make him a very rich man (?). I'm not an English native speaker, so… sorry for the grammar.

**Disclaimer: **Suits characters don't belong to me, they're the property of their creators. I use them to tell the stories my crazy little head contends.

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**D for Drinking [Part One]**

"I shouldn't have drunk that much", Harvey reproached loudly trying to keep his diction clear, without success.

Mike laughed lightly, trying to keep his way and push the chair down the less damaged part of the sidewalk to avoid sending his boss to the ground. He was not doing it very well as he saw the older man's shoulders staggering with the cracks of the asphalt and the strength of his muscles clinging to the arm supports.

"Come on, Harvey, don't be bitter. We were celebrating something big: you should have drunk more; you should have drunk until you lost consciousness", Mike answered.

"And exempt yourself from your first day of work tomorrow? Don't even think about it. You're my most expensive investment, kid, I want to start collecting my winnings".

By the time they got to the corner, Ray was already waiting for them.

"Funny night, uh?", he asked both, while opening the limo door for them.

"More than funny, but the funniest part comes now", Harvey replied, and although Mike tried not to hear the tone of bitterness in that statement, he couldn't help it. The nominal partner made several attempts to move from the wheelchair to the car but failed because of lack of strength in his left arm and the overwhelming effects of alcohol. He couldn't even separate the bottom of his body from the seat.

"I can't", he sentenced after the fourth attempt to get up. Mike and Ray knew that the transferring process wasn't something they should look at, at least not if they wanted to avoid a killer look. They turned to see Harvey only because of the frustrated confession.

"It doesn't matter", replied the newly named junior partner. It was the most natural thing; he had done it in the best and worst days of Harvey after the accident, and for him it was nothing to be bothered or ashamed by, nor even under the scrutiny of curious passers-by. Harvey didn't think the same.

Mike stood in front of his mentor's wheelchair and crouched down to his height.

"You know what to do, Harvey. Come on, hands on my shoulders. Ray, can you help me with the chair?".

"Sure thing, Mike". The driver positioned himself behind the expensive wheelchair to prevent it from betraying them and making a false move.

"I'm so fuckin' drunk. I hate you, rookie".

"I know, so am I, but I'm no longer a rookie. Junior partner, remember?"

"Unfortunately, I remember, and you don't know how sorry I am. I think I'll call Jessica..."

Harvey tried to raise his arms, but they didn't answer him the way he wanted. _Embarrassed_, that was the word he was looking for.

"Old man, you've never been so proud of anything in your life like me being New York's youngest junior partner".

The kid raised his boss's arms and placed them on his shoulders, while wielding him by the back to lift him from the chair to the leather seat. Harvey tried to entwine his hands to give some support to his pupil even though he felt his fingers clenched from the cold —where the hell did he leave his gloves?—. Undoubtedly it was difficult because of the difference in weights —Harvey lost muscle mass in his legs in the last three years, but he won it in his chest and arms, and was still taller than his protégé— and because Mike was just as intoxicated as him and barely coordinated his movements; however, translating moves required ability and not force and, for Harvey, the younger one was able to have and exploit both. Mike left him sitting well, accommodated his suit and coat lapels, and helped him insert his motionless legs into the interior of the car.

"Ready, Batman. Time for retreat".

Harvey laughed because, honestly, what did he have left? A warm feeling overwhelmed him when he heard the habitual nickname: he was no longer a superhero and Mike still managed to make him feel like one with his unconditional recognition and admiration; his fierce, almost devoted loyalty; his respect and even with his constant challenges; his willingness to learn and, at the same time, to show him how wrong he can be, and even with his superfluous pop culture commentaries. Harvey didn't want to admit it, but those comments helped him to feel, even for a moment, that nothing changes, even though everything changes, and to realize that, although some things between them were different from the accident—who protects who, who cares for whom, who watches who— Mike still considered him his mentor; someone worthy, able to teach and guide you not only through your career, but in your personal life.

"Thank you, Mike", Harvey he said, and felt a lump form in his throat as he saw Mike secure his seat belt. It must have been the winter air what made his throat feel funny. Yes, it was probably that.

Mike went up to the other side of the automobile as Harvey put his head against the backing; the world was spinning, and he was at risk from falling because of dizziness. Ray started the car, not before giving them a funny look through the rearview mirror.

"Do you want to go somewhere to keep celebrating?", Ray asked.

"No, we're going home", Mike replied, and they both knew he was referring to Harvey's apartment.

"Are you serious? No beautiful, fleeting woman to share this victory with?"

"I told the kid to go with the _barwoman_ who kept looking at him, but he insisted on going with me to the apartment because he's a _sense and __sensibility_ guy who thinks this day is just to celebrate with his master about his recent admission to the _Jedi_ council", said the eldest man while rolling his eyes.

"Wait a minute, are you serious, Harvey? Will you finally stop calling me _padawan_ and I'll be able to sit at the table and go to the partner's kitchen where they have those chocolate-covered bars and those Irish cream capsules?"

"Yes, of course, but if you touch my blueberries, I'll go through you with my light sword", Harvey replied with a smile on his lips.

"Maybe it's for the best you to go with him", the driver said, "so you'll make sure he gets to his bed and not the one of that women at the golf club".

"What can I tell you, Ray? That's who I am: I take care of my elders", Mike said without malice. However, Harvey felt the comment drilled deep into his mind, evoking memories he preferred to encapsulate and not revive every time he looked in the mirror. Oh, because he is the best to deceive himself; in fact, besides Donna, Harvey is sure he is the only living being who can deceive himself. Even if he tried, the images are there: Mike Ross's blue eyes, colored red, retaining the tears and his face twisted in panic, crying out for help, while he lays on the asphalt, dying from a burst lung and artery, and tells his pupil that everything is going to be fine, that he will be the best lawyer in New York, that it doesn't matter that he will not be there to scold him and remove get him out of the mud; Donna's voice on the edge of his hospital bed, when she thinks he has lost consciousness and does not listen to her, her soft touches and caresses in his hand and forehead; the doctor's words about not being able to stand up again to kick other dumb lawyers' asses, that there will be headaches, memory loss and tremors and weakness in the left hand because the nerves are irreparably damaged; Rachel's cries, full of pain and frustration, saying vociferously that he can't give up because that will destroy Mike, and she won't let that be the cause of the decline of a future legal genius, and because he's also taught her so much in such a short time that she's learned to appreciate him in his arrogance, and finally, his associate's resolve not to let him sink into depression, telling him that he promises to be his legs, his left hand and his memory —of that one he has to give away— and whatever it takes as long as he keeps closing deals and showing the world who is the best conciliator in New York. He also remembers the sacrifices —how to forget it if it's one of his earrings, which he can't ignore every day when he sees Mike come to the office?— Mike doesn't admit it, he doesn't like to talk about it, and being honest Harvey doesn't like it either, but it is long clear that the kid has set aside his dream of becoming a lawyer to help the ordinary citizen rather than the big American corporations, in order to stay in Pearson Specter Litt and help him continue to be a nominal partner not only functional, but who exceeds any expectation.

Mike sensed the change in Harvey's expression from relaxed and drowsy to tense and melancholy, with his pupils fixed in the window, and decided to confront him immediately, fearing that it would be some discomfort in health.

"What's the matter, Harvey? Do you feel pain?".

"I'm fine, Mike".

"I don't believe you. What's going on? Is something hurting you? It's your legs, isn't it?".

"I'm telling you that I'm fine"

"Did you bring your pills with you? I don't think it's convenient for you to take them now, but…"

"Mike...".

"How long do you think we should wait, Ray?".

"Mike, stop it!". Harvey didn't notice that he yelled until he saw the slightly wounded expression on his protégé's face and the discomfort in Ray's. Harvey regretted it right away: it was really fucked to ruin the party just because the alcohol made it nostalgic. It was unfair. Really unfair.

"I'm sorry, Mike, I... I think I'm a little tired, that's all", Harvey replied, removing the gray scarf from his neck.

"It's okay".

It wasn't fair to Jessica, Scottie, or Louis.

It wasn't fair to Ray, or Rachel, not Donna, much less Mike.

It wasn't fair to him, who had had the perfect life before all that. The curious thing was, however, that he still feels fortunate and, although he did not recognize it often, he was grateful that he had not died. At some point in that tragic fiasco he was not happy, and he came to reproach Mike for pushing him to hold on to live, even if he was motionless from the middle of the body down, but now he can be honest with himself and say he was lucky he didn't die, because it would have left behind a shattered Donna, a Mike Ross without his last name on the door, just as his talent and intellect indicated that would happen, a Rachel without her partner society at the firm where she worked her whole life, and without knowing the little ones that those two birds would end up raising. There was still much to see, hear, do, at least from the relative comfort of his two wheels, and despite the pain that would accompany him for life.

"Mike", Harvey cleared his throat.

"Yeah?".

"Thank you".

"What?", the new junior partner asked without hiding his surprise. Was Harvey having a stroke or something?

"I said: 'Thank you'", Specter repeated, without regret, because he really felt it and it overcame any attempt at stoicism.

"I mean, yes, I heard you, but why?".

Harvey sighed because that's what he hated about alcohol: it loosened his tongue, made him friendly with strangers, seductive with women, and even somewhat funny with friends; connected him to that emotional part, the one on the weak side of human nature.

"For pretending to talk to Ray in the rainy mornings so he can come by you early because you don't want to get wet on the bike, but I know you do it to help me get out of bed because you know the humidity gets my legs to kill me; for accompanying me to most meetings with clients and other lawyers, no matter that in the discussion they use it against you and want to put you in the face that you will never be more than Harvey Specter's colleague; for reading the reports aloud, arguing that it helps you concentrate, when we both know you do it because reading the documents causes me an unbearable migraine; for remembering what I cannot remember, there, just when I need to have it at hand; for helping me as much as Donna to being me and not to show weakness to others even when you know that I feel it; for having fulfilled for years your promise to be my legs, my left arm and my memory. I'm very proud of you, Mike, and the kind of person you are and the kind of lawyer you've become", Harvey said, still looking him in the eye.

Mike couldn't stop from being snitfully watered down.

Harvey had to carve to continue.

"And I'm sorry. I'm sorry to be a lousy mentor. I'm sorry our roles are now reversed, and you had to be the one to protect and take care of me, when it's my duty to do so".

"No, Harvey...".

"Please, just let me finish".

"I know it wasn't in your plans. I know it's not what I expected from my life, and certainly not what I wanted for yours, but I also know that I can't send you away or take you away from me; I tried and failed. I don't want to do it again. I just want you to know that you're always free to go and look for the best for you and Rachel, in the moment that you decide it, and I promise it'll be fine. I know you've had a goal and a dream for a lot of your life, and I'd hate myself for being an obstacle to you getting it".

"Harvey...".

"Mike, you don't have to say anything".

"But I want to. I'm not here because you need me, but because I want to be, Harvey. I've learned a lot from you all these years, and one of the things I've learned is that our aspirations and goals can change from time to time because we're sharks and we're constantly moving forward and changing. You gave me my dream, my family, and the opportunity to meet the woman I love; you gave me that second option when no one else gave a penny for me. I don't need to chase anything different to be happy. Besides, you're not a lousy mentor; you're strict, not too funny, a tyrant without compassion and you'll never let me eat your blueberries, but you're excellent. Better than Gandalf".

Mike saw the tears in those brown eyes; not even one slipped. Harvey smiled the Specter's smile while patting his protégé on the knee. Afterwards, he relaxed his shoulders, recharged his back and enjoyed the trip.

* * *

The second time Mike helped him move, this time from the limousine to the wheelchair, was more complicated because the effects of whiskey were accentuated and, after the lapse of melancholy sincerity, they were again dominated by the uncontrollable laughs and the awkwardness typical of the early stages of drunkenness.

"You should have left with the beautiful blonde and save yourself from dealing with me", was the comment the junior partner received when he opened his mentor's car door.

"Yes, I would certainly have if I wasn't married to your sexy third-year associate", Mike said. Then he went to pull the chair out of the trunk, put it in position and put the brakes on. It was clear that on that second occasion Harvey was not going to be able to help him a bit, so the kid was forced to regain some space location and coordination. They were not going to finish both on the asphalt. He placed his boss's legs out of the car for a better foothold and put his arms over his shoulders.

"Do I have a sensual associate and had not been informed?".

"She's much younger than you; she could be your daughter".

"Liar; unless I was a father very prematurely, like eighteen years old. How old is Rachel?".

"I don't know, thirty-two, maybe".

"Did you marry a woman you don't know her age? You know what? Forget what I said: I'm not proud of you, you're not my son. I'll say you're adopted".

"And that... is... funny... because... in fact... I'm not your son", Mike said as he was pushing and trying to lift his mentor. He managed to move him and make him rotate, not without a huge effort, and leaving Harvey sitting not in the best way possible. Almost by custom he accommodated the coat and lapels of the three piece suit: on more than one occasion he had to translate Harvey before a meeting, deposition or trial and the older lawyer always insisted that he did not want to be seen in public with the suit unfit. Never.

"I can't have them anymore, kids I mean, but you know you are, in everything but blood and genetics. I think others suspect it because you're not that attractive".

The junior partner couldn't help but be moved by the admission so casually mentioned, which Harvey would never have shared if he were sober.

"If you say that is because you're more drunk than I thought", Mike told him as he squatted and lowered the wheelchair's foot breaks, and then helped Harvey in the task of putting his legs on them in view that his mentor was completely prevented from performing some coordinated movement.

"I am. It's your fault. It's still true".

"I'm more attractive than you, old man".

"Don't call me old".

"Then my old man, dear old man".

"Enough or I'll take you out of the will".

They both said good night to Ray, thanking him for being willing to pick them up late at night in an elegant bar, which was still of doom, and climbed up the elevator.

In Harvey's room, Mike lit the lamp, removed the mattress and brought the wheelchair closer to bed. He took off his boss's raincoat, jacket and tie, and repeated the transfer procedure, though this time, taking advantage of the softness of Harvey Specter's imperial bed, he dropped the paraplegic man without delicacy.

"Thank you for considering me and treating me like a sack of potatoes", the senior partner suggested irritably.

"A sack of potatoes doesn't complain", Mike replied. He accommodated Harvey's shoulders and head so that they were resting on the pillows and moved his legs to lay him along the bed. He crouched down to untie the needles and take off his friend's shoes. "Plus, you're a very rich potato bag with an excellent mattress".

"If that's how you treat Rachel, you'll be divorced before you become a senior partner".

"You're not here to know, but she likes my rudeness".

"Too much information".

"You got her into this".

Mike went to one of the closets, pulled out another blanket and threw it at his mentor with little ceremony. As he approached enough with the intention of turning off the nighttable lamp, the older man took him from the tie and forced him to lean slightly over him.

"Mike, congratulations. You officially sold your soul to Jessica and me".

"Thank you, Harvey. I wouldn't have made it without you. Now sleep because your drunk self is scaring me a little bit".

"Close the door, and don't touch the bar".

"Not promising anything".

Mike wasn't sleepy. He didn't used to sleep so soon after drinking, so he turned on the TV and among the pile of cheap and infomercial television found _Men of Honor._ However, food and drink, celebration, emotions and efforts to move Harvey from one side to side made a dent of his strength, and before arriving at the trial scene he had already lost consciousness on the couch.

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TBC. Comments are welcome as much as grammar observations. Thank you so much for reading. Keep stunned for more!


	2. A of Asphyxiation

**Life in Alphabet**

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**Harvey Specter & Mike Ross (AU)**

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**Author's note:** Because we're opening, we have 2x1 week. I hope you can hook them up.

**Descargo de responsabilidad: **I don't own Suits. All goes to USA.

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**D for Drinking [Second Part] or A for Asphyxiation**

Sixty-five seconds were enough for Mike Ross's world to wobble and crumble into one of its foundations. He never thought of his eidetic memory as a curse until days after the accident when he was able to evoke every terrible second of those sixty-five —between the moment he paid for coffee, heard the roar, and the moment he was able to hold Harvey on his lap— and then in the longest minutes of his existence with his wounded mentor bleeding out in his arms.

Of course, being Mike Ross with a Ross's luck, his world imploded twice: the first when his grandmother confessed in tears that his parents would not come back, and the second when he saw Harvey lying in a puddle of his own blood a feet away from a blue Jaguar. With his mathematical ability, he concluded that the duration of the disbelief on both occasions was the same.

Harvey had invited him out for fresh air and buy a coffee when he found him lying on the floor of the office after a night of hard work. They had a meeting two hours later and no one wanted Mike not attentive enough, especially their client: a forty-eight-year-old woman accused of bribing a major military man to agree to suppress a protest rally against her sugar company.

It took sixty-five seconds to ruin what it once was: a driver in an inconvenient state, with cocaine up on his eyelashes, and a car that, despite its impressively expensive brakes, was impossible to stop.

Mike was buying two cups of coffee and two cart bagels when Harvey received an urgent call and walked away to an empty place, away from the sound of other people's conversations, to attend it. _Twenty-five seconds_ is what it took Mike to leave the coffees on a little bar and try to pay and, at the same time, take the bagels. Then he heard the roar, the squeak of the tires against the asphalt and the screams of the people passing by, adding up_ ten seconds more_ to his fatal account. He looked up and the worst of his nightmares came true: a driver had climbed the sidewalk, boarded the dressing case and hit his only passerby. The colleague dropped the stupid coffee and the stupid bagels, because there was no doubt that this man well-dressed watered on the asphalt as a stuffed animal was his boss and mentor, Harvey Specter. Mike saw the luxurious star blue car against a pole, steaming in its killer heat, and the lawyer lying near one of his tires.

Mike's memory allows him to relive, on sleepless nights, the panic of his chest, the absolute fear that made his hands tremble and the crippling shock that almost led him on his knees to empty his stomach. He remembers approaching quickly, though his legs barely moved him, and unexpectedly managed to settle next to the wounded man before any morbid Samaritan. _The last thirty seconds._ He tried to evoke anything he had read about attention to hit-and-run victims, but to no avail; for the first time since he had memory, it was blank, and the irony seemed cruel to him, needing its help more than ever.

"Help! An ambulance! Somebody calls 911!", he shouted in a broken voice.

Mike forced his prodigious memory and common sense to work, which dictated to him that, on the one hand, it was vital to comfort an accident victim and verify his level of consciousness and, on the other hand, that moving him increases the risk of spinal injury. Before he knew it, he was gently turning Harvey on his back and lying him on his lap.

"Harvey?, Harvey, please", Mike called, begged.

"Mike?", the wounded man asked as his brown eyes opened slightly. "What-what's going on?".

"You had an accident, but it's okay... You're all right". Mike wasn't sure of that, but his mind wouldn't allow him to consider another possibility: it didn't recognize that tomorrow he might wake up and Harvey wouldn't be at his desk with a growl and the attitude of dominance and control over people, about cases, about winning. There was no scenario in which Harvey lost, not even against concussion or brain injury, lung perforation, pneumothorax, paralysis, coma or death.

"What-what happened, kid? Why are you… crying?", the senior partner asked with confused eyes, choppy breathing and lips shaking.

"You had an accident, Harvey, it was a car", the kid replied, trying to put his friend as best as possible on his lap, and frantically looking around. "Ca-can someone call an ambulance, please?!", the colleague raised one of his hands when he sensed moisture and found blood, dark blood, blood that did not look like blood. He did not know where it came from because it was too much, and his mind drew up the false inference that then it could not come from Harvey Specter's body, and for the first time in forever Mike had no intelligent idea and cunning response, simply fear in its purest, most abrasive and corrosive, lacerating form; the absolute fear of losing again, helpless, to one of its pillars, and to see the rest crumble like pieces of dominoes.

"What?... How bad… How bad is it?", the older lawyer asked, though deep down, in his body, he felt the answer: he could not think clearly, his heart was pounding in his chest quickly, feeling dizzy and nauseous, barely able to breathe. He tried to stand up to verify the level in which he was injured, but his friend prevented him.

"You're all right, Batman. Just stay still". Harvey heard the diagnostic, but didn't believe word. Gradually, the deafening shock disappeared, and there remained the pain that gives away the broken bones, the burst organs and the muscles in agony by the chaotic blows: the suffering that dictates death.

"Never... lie to me. The truth, Mike, always the truth", Harvey said as he tried to focus his young colleague's face. The effort was excessive and left him nauseous and gasping for an air that could not enter his lungs, so his body inadvertently convulsed in his mentee's arms.

"No, no, no, don't do that. Don't do that, Harvey, okay? You must breathe. Just breathe, breathe", Mike could not prevent the tears from accumulating in his eyes and slipping, and he felt panic and anguish at not controlling them, and not being able to be strong just as Harvey taught him, and instead he tremble and become again the vulnerable boy whose parents never returned from a date of love; the one with the marijuana portfolio; the colleague who gave way to Louis Litt's threats, to the blackmail of Jessica Pearson; the one who almost lost Harvey's loyalty for a stupid mistake.

Harvey tried, tried to breathe deeply to make sure he didn't die in the arms of a person who had already lost his mother, father, and grandmother—not that he was as relevant in Mike's life as they were— but was physically prevented from doing so. He was going to die, that's what he was sure of —because that's how he felt, like dying— but he would have preferred to make the experience less traumatic for his associate. Who would say that? The mighty Harvey Specter, imagining better scenarios in which to die, those that did not involve blood, chaos, automobiles, exploited lungs, suffocation, and pain, lots of pain, and definitely not in the arms of this orphan kid with and excellent memory, capable of remembering every smell, color and detail.

"I'm sorry, Mike. I don't think… I'm gonna make it", the senior partner voiced with his throat closed and a weak voice.

"Don't say it, okay? The ambulance is almost here and you're going to get better. Everything will be back to the way it was".

What worried Mike most and ended up breaking it inside was the sadness he saw in that brown eyes, plagued with the absolute certainty of the abrupt end of his life, given for a moment of lucidity and awareness between the toxicity that was beginning to circulate through his blood in his dying body, which clouded his judgment.

"It's over... Forgive me. I didn't want to... do this to you".

"Harvey, don't say that, I beg you".

"I'm so sorry. You'll be all right, Mike. You'll be the best of us, you got that? Better than me, better than Jessica. It'll be all right".

"Please don't, Harvey. Not without you. Don't close your eyes. Look at me, look at me, please. I can't do this. Not again, God, please".

At one point, Harvey's eyelids were closing, and his eyes were rolling inside his head, and the next he knew was that Mike was hitting his face hard, trying to make him regain some sense. He was utterly confused. At times he understood what was going on around him, while in others reality was a diffuse flow of images and sounds, of disjointed symbols, which he was unable to interpret. He returned to the land of the living with confusion and wanting to escape from his mentee's arms and from pain and recompose his broken suit and stretch out the legs he no longer felt.

A long shiver swept across Harvey, and along with it a coughing access that ended in attack, and in a blood vomit in his mouth that brought his colleague to the brink of panic. Even though he listened to the sirens in the distance, it was evident that they had run out of time. Mike Ross found inevitable to cry because it wasn't fair: he wouldn't accept that outcome, and would make any deal, whatever it would cost, to keep his mentor alive. Any deal. Any sacrifice.

Harvey meant to say so much: what he lacked to teach, which was quite considering that they had only four years together; what he dared not confess for fear of being vulnerable; what could help Mike overcome a loss and accept that sometimes it is statistically impossible not to lose; what everyone else knew, but which was never said between the two —that he loved him as the brother he had and the son he never had—. However, the experience was far from what it was in the movies: there are no long goodbyes, no wise advice, no words of encouragement to compensate for the years that won't be for them. In Harvey's death there were only violent jolts of pain and suffocation, accelerated beats, blurred sight, until he began to be defeated by the bleeding, internal and external, and the convulsions gave way to stillness, and he was horrifyingly motionless in his kid's arms, while Mike clung to his sophisticated suit and screamed for him to stay awake, as if that desperate contact could function as a lifeline, and his breathing failed him and his heartbeat subsided, and his consciousness disappeared.

* * *

Mike lifted his torso from the couch by a pull of reality: a coughing fit coming from the main room. He ran into the room long before he was completely awake because that was exactly the noise that plagued his nightmares: of someone who simply. Could. Not. Breathe. In the bed, a chest was rhythmically shaken, and Mike was able to identify the silhouette that stood with difficulty on the pillows. The younger lawyer moved rapidly, giving the impression that the life of the person suffering from the attack depended on it, and as a result almost stumbled upon his own footsteps.

"Harvey?! Hey, easy, easy!", Mike called with a slightly exaggerated tone for the situation, which did not go unnoticed by Harvey. Ross grabbed him by the shoulders and helped him finish his way up. The youngest sat on the bed and tried to connect glances, but Harvey continued to struggle to release the imaginary obstruction of his throat.

It took several attempts for the junior partner to focus the view on his boss's face. Maybe he needed glasses, or maybe it was a passing effect of drunkenness. It wasn't a serious coughing attack, but after that nightmare, Mike's nerves were upset and the feeling of blood on his fingertips was vivid. No one would blame him for being overprotective. Nobody but Harvey.

"You're fine, breathe, deep, deep", Mike asked as he helped Harvey to apply the inhaler he had to use to improve his breathing since that day, and then pour a glass of water from the jug on the table at the end of the room.

Harvey looked at him with a reproach that Mike couldn't understand. When he managed to speak, Harvey remorselessly released the Specter character.

"What the hell, Mike!?".

"Sorry?".

"Why the hell do you enter in like this! You're going to give me a damn heart attack! Was a maniac chasing you?".

"What? You were having a coughing fit. What am I supposed to do? Let you die?".

"Damn, Mike, I'm not going to drown in my own saliva. That would be pathetic. Stop acting like I'm made of glass. I don't need you stuck to me like a leech".

Mike walked away indignantly and took a seat on the divan. That's exactly the kind of person Harvey is, no matter what many glimpses of a different Harvey he sees: he always returns to the insensitivity proud distance from those he loves and knows that love him in return. On that couch, Mike had spent many all-nighters, when Harvey's breathing is so bad that someone must stay and take care of him, when the risk of pneumonia became a bitter reality. But his friend is unable to see that: for him there is pride, appearances and a crooked idea of dignity. Mike did not expect any recognition for the concerns, the attentions or his dedication, but a simply understanding of his fears rooted and fed on the traumatic experience, because although Harvey was the main victim and who had to deal with everyday sequels in the aftermath, everyone was scarred and won and lost battles everyday, including wanting to help and not to do so for not damaging the pride of the senior partner.

Mike sighed bitterly.

"Forget it, Harvey. You wouldn't understand it".

"Understand what?".

"I'm going home now".

"Wait, Mike. It's four in the morning. You can't go home at this hour. Explain to me, understand what?".

"What, Harvey!? Understand that you were run over by a drug addict and almost died in my arms; understand that this damn demising cough is exactly what I hear in my nightmares; understand that when we went in the ambulance your heart stopped and they had to revive you in front of me and for a few seconds I thought they wouldn't make it; understand that in the hospital we were told that you would not last the night because the bleeding was almost fatal and your lung was badly damaged; understand that Donna and Rachel made me walk into that fucking room and say goodbye to my mentor even though I wasn't fuckin' ready, I wasn't ready and that didn't fuckin' matter because I had to do it or I was going to regret it for the rest of my life; understand that when you became aware and Donna told you about your legs, you were so upset and started screaming that we would have let you die, and I felt like the most selfish and insensitive man in the world because I was so fuckin' glad you were alive while you were sinking in suffering, because that's exactly what I asked for before you lost consciousness on the day of the accident: any price but that you lived!".

At the end, Mike had unconsciously locked his head in his hands, in a position that indicated that he was trying to protect himself from a hostile environment, when in fact it was his thoughts which were attacking him.

Harvey kept quiet. He wasn't that cold: some of those things he knew from Donna and others from Rachel, but they'd never talked about them. He looked down, finding no words to apologize for behaving like a jerk.

"I'm sorry, Mike". In cases like these, simplicity was the product of sincerity. "If it's any use, you know you won't get rid of me so easily. I'm going to be here to throw every one of my grays in your face. You're not going to lose me", the older one tried to reassure him; a serious look and firm voice: Harvey assumed that it would suffice to persuade him.

"That's what I thought of my parents, about my grandmother; that's what I thought of you before that day. It turns out that one day, sooner or later, it becomes a false promise", Mike said crudely.

"I know, but it won't be on purpose. I'll do everything in my power to die when you want me, but you don't need me anymore".

"Are you quoting the _Nanny McPhee_?"_, _Mike asked with an incredulous amusement stuck between his teeth.

"I thought it would be appropriate in this situation", Harvey replied with a cheeky smile etched on his face.

The comment served to relax the tension of the room, but Mike's eyes soon became sad and distant.

"After my parents died, I started making mental lists".

"What kind of lists?".

"Lists about the things I wanted to do with the people I loved. I still do. I have one for each of you. I used to tell myself that if I had a list then God would realize that it was not yet complete and then he would leave them with me".

Harvey tried to find those puppy eyes in the gloom, but he only found emptiness.

"I hope ours includes _strippers_".

"Bachelor farewell, remember?"

"Right. Although I certainly can't do anymore many of the things that were originally on your list".

"The list was never about activities; it was about people. I know there are days when you would have preferred...", Mike couldn't say. Just thinking about it would make him sick of his stomach, "something different, but... I remember one of those bad days you told me to look for another mentor because you didn't want anymore, and I quote: "a scary lapdog on your pants".

"Mike, you know I said it to send you away. I didn't feel able to teach you or guide you, when I didn't even see the point to keep existing".

"I know, the point is, I didn't want another mentor: I wanted you".

Harvey smiled and there was a peculiar nostalgia in that smile. He also had his own list of things he wanted to live on before kicking the bucket, and he would have liked to invest more effort on it before being paralyzed.

"I bet that list had 'play baseball with my superhero mentor' on it, right?".

"I will not dignify that question with an answer"

"What does it include now?"

Mike got a little nervous. He was a bleeding heart with puppy eyes, that everyone knew, including Harvey, but he didn't like them making a mop of his sentimentality.

"Come on, Mike, tell me...".

"It's predictable, you should intuit it, sir-I-am-too-good-reading-people".

"Well, I guess: Yankees game, drive a Ferrari, go to some museum, marathon of the Star Wars and Star Trek sagas, put together a puzzle or play Monopoly, play some sport, get drunk, a dinner that costs me a fortune, go buy suits, make a heavy prank on Rachel, go to a rock concert, play violent video games, go fishing, go on a Formula 1° car race, build a miniature model airplane, listen to my acetates, celebrate Christmas, vacation in Montana, read a book, meet Michael Jordan and Michael Phelps".

After the initial surprise, because his mentor didn't fail his abductions, he realized: "That is not only my list, but yours".

"Go to sleep, kid".

"You have to say: "Go to sleep, Your Excellency, New York's youngest junior partner".

"If you are His Excellency, I am Your Royal Highness, so let me sleep".

"You guessed almost everything on my list, except one thing".

"Which one?".

"The Ferrari".

"What!? Who wouldn't want to drive a Ferrari with Harvey Specter?".

"Someone who can't drive. Like me".

"You gotta be kidding me... That's the first thing we're doing tomorrow. I need to give you back some dignity".

* * *

That's it. Any comment is welcome, even to say this story sucks. I just enjoyed so much writing it. To be continue. Thanks for reading it!


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